The driver was a long time starting; he fidgeted with his horses, with his reins, with the harness, and then he fortified himself with half a bottle of red wine. No one approached Emilia while he was thus employed; no one breathed "farewell," or gave her a kind look. But when at length the driver took his seat on the box, with Leonard beside him, and was gathering up his ragged reins, the landlord's daughter passed the open window of the carriage, and furtively threw something in. It fell into Emilia's lap, and she, with eyes suddenly overflowing, and lips convulsed with emotion, covered it with her handkerchief, lest it should be taken from her. Then with a shout, the driver set his horses in motion, and they commenced their journey. Emilia lifted her handkerchief. In her lap lay a little bunch of flowers, tied together with string, attached to which was a piece of paper, and written upon the paper the words, "From his grave." She pressed the flowers to her breast, to her lips, and murmured a prayer of thankfulness. The sense of the deep and irreparable wrong which Gerald had inflicted upon her passed away, and she thought of him only as one to whom she had given her heart and the full measure of her love. He was her child's father; better to think of him with love and kindness, which would soften her heart, than with harshness and bitterness, which would harden it. It would help to smooth the roads of the future she was to pass in the loving companionship of her child. "Only you and I alone, darling," she murmured; "only you and I!" How kind of the young girl to send her away with this token of pity and sympathy. "Heaven bless her for it!" thought Emilia. "Heaven brighten her life, and save her from misery!" Had Emilia possessed a nature which would have hardened under such sufferings as she was enduring, the young girl's simple offering would have humanized and softened it. No wonder, then, that with a nature as sweet as ever woman was blessed with, she looked upon the flowers from Gerald's grave as an angel's gift, sent to her as a divine solace and strengthener. "I _will_ be strong," she thought. "A duty of love is mine to perform, and I will perform it in humbleness and gratitude." From time to time Leonard came to the door of the carriage and asked if he could do anything for her. She gently declined his offers of refreshment, and said she needed nothing. He did not press his attentions upon her, and she gave him credit for a kindness of heart to which he had no claim. It was ten o'clock at night when they reached the town to which Leonard was conveying her. The carriage drew up at the door of at hotel of some pretension, and there Leonard had no difficulty in obtaining accommodation for Emilia. He told her he did not intend to pass the night at the hotel, and she was grateful to him. "To-morrow I shall return," he said. "Shall I say good-by to you now or then?" "Now," she replied.